The Perk - Sunday Morning

[toomanyofme.livejournal.com]

After almost two weeks of weirdness, Jamie was relieved to see that everything seemed to be going back to normal.

Only thing was that there was something pulling on him. And while Jamie was not an expert on time travel, even he could figure out that his time was short in this timeline.

So Jamie was enjoying a cup of coffee while quietly praying to whatever higher existed that the work that campfire had done might have made some difference.

In the meantime: One last cup of coffee.

[Final Post for Jamie. Or anyone else about to disappear if they want. SP for me until tonight.]

Stark Industries, Sunday

[craftyladyparts.livejournal.com]

Sorry, but Jessica's mind wasn't likely to be on her work today. She had a portal tonight. Then it was going to be a matter of whether or not she got away with the crazy thing she was planning to do.

Right now instead of doing any real work, she was going to continue checking her equipment. Earpiece communicator specifically tampered with to keep SHIELD from tracking her unless she wanted it? In working order....

Actually, that was all she really had. Screw it, she had time to kill, might as well repair some stuff. Right after sending Miles a text to let him know that she wanted to meet with him tomorrow....

[OOC: Likely to be slow throughout the day.]

Demon Marcus, Sunday

[myownface]

Yeah, Sparkle was here. He was here mostly because the bars didn't open first thing in the morning and he couldn't stand to be in his room any more. He wasn't doing anything. He'd pulled up a chair behind the counter and was mostly just staring at the stock around him. Occasionally he felt the urge to just... something. Break things. Something.

He didn't, though.

He did, from time to time, just slam his fists down on the countertop before retreating into the back room for a few minutes, here and there. Whether it was to drink some of Callie's old alcohol stash, cry, or throw up was his business and nobody else's.

[OOC: Open store, but Sparks isn't going to be terribly helpful today.]

The streets of Fandom, Sunday afternoon

[14andseven]

So Roland was once again a perfectly ordinary bard-slash-street musician. Who played the guitar, thank you very much. And had no interest in robots, crepes, or mandolins.

He was briefly faintly curious as to why he'd been into all of those things, but then decided he probably didn't want to know, anyway. Rebecca and Evan were probably having a great laugh at his antics somewhere watching their crystal ball or whatever, and the most important thing was that all of that meant he hadn't played his guitar in weeks.

Playing John Lennon on her was basically the guitar version of giving her a good, long hug.

Devil's Nest [Sunday from noon on]

[texted3times]

Eric had put up a sign on the door of the Devil's Nest:

What the Fuck Was That.
Come Drink.
I Know You Want To.

(Not for Kids. I Know Who You Are.)

Well, he was trying?

The Devil's Nest was open for all of your unhealthy coping with trauma needs! You'd have to wait for the sun to go down to deal with the owner, but Tiny was a master in the arts of shutting up and pouring drinks.

Book Haven, Sunday

[give-areason.livejournal.com]

It was Sunday and the store was open because it was better than doing absolutely nothing except stewing in her thoughts, in the apartment above. There were things she had to, would have to, do—like give back clothing, and figure out reparations and explanations. Figure out how she felt about the last month and more.

She opened her store instead.

Rosalind, dressed impeccably in her suit, with her shoes shined and her hair painstakingly neat, had always taken comfort in working hard. While she could wish for something more strenuous to do, putting her shop back in order was enough to give her focus.

Especially since she wasn't quite sure what Evan had been thinking when he'd ordered more stock. Why did they have so many copies of Schlachthof Fünf? Rosalind read the back of it, wondering if they could return a couple dozen of copies to the supplier.

Every now and then she took time out from her work, most of it paperwork and ascertaining that the books were where they were supposed to be, to try and make a phone call. At seven, Amelia had missed Elena.

At twenty, Rosalind missed her much more.

It didn't surprise her that none of her calls got through, but she kept trying. That was probably all any of them could do today. Even though, if she did get through, Rosalind had no idea what she'd say. Where would she even start?

Though she doubted anyone would be by today for a job, nonetheless she left her sign up that said:

Now hiring! Apply inside!

Just in case.

Abandoned Warehouse District, Sunday Night

[justbeingbay]

No one who knew Bay -- and she was Bay again, thankfully -- would be surprised at her choice of a Sunday night activity. Because of course she'd be down on the bad end of the island, and of course she had on black leather and a bad mood, and of course she was armed with a can of spray paint and stencil supplies. A dingy warehouse wall was in for it tonight, and this was how she was going to process having lost more than a month of her life to somebody else. (Not that she'd really lost it: It was right there in her memory. But it hadn't been her going through those things.)

The art of the night was Dom's eyes, done in dark strokes against the brick, with careful text reading Through someone else's eyes. She had to go extra-slow, but the ache in her bandaged hand was actually a good thing -- it proved to her nothing she'd been through lately had been a dream, even if she'd been locked in the wrong body for most of it.

She added Axe Girl in the corner, just to prove even more that she was herself again.

[OOC: Open to interruption.]